


Counterpoint

by Fanfreluche



Series: Dresden - Montana - Berlin [8]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Nineties, Anal Sex, Dialogue Heavy, Dom/sub Undertones, Light Bondage, M/M, Open Relationships, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfreluche/pseuds/Fanfreluche
Summary: Spring of 1994. Berlin. Arthur has visitors. Dutch bakes muffins.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, John Marston/Arthur Morgan, Other Background Relationships - Relationship
Series: Dresden - Montana - Berlin [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1456312
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	Counterpoint

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [vmotp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vmotp/pseuds/vmotp) for your lovely art that motivated me to finish this! :)
> 
> Some animal and people names were exchanged, but I assure you this is better than the alternative of me choosing names… Enjoy, boahs! 
> 
> Background sound and music in bold italic.

The little girl laughed.

“Up you go!”

The little girl screeched in laughter.

“Woooo!”

Dutch appeared to be observing the spectacle with a neutral expression for a moment or two, before it seemed like he might be sensing the need for an explanation when he finally broke the silence he’d maintained since walking through the half-open door.

“What is this, Arthur?” He stepped a step closer. “Yours?”

“It’s a little girl.” Arthur offered, trying his best to ignore the tiny fists landing left and right on his chest, demanding more and more air tosses. “Rachel. John’s daughter, remember? She’s grown up a lot, hasn’t she?”

Somehow or the other he managed to release his ponytail from the little girl’s iron grasp and handed the wiggling bundle to Dutch, who looked for a moment as if he was going to refuse but was still apparently a bit puzzled since he relented rather quickly, especially when further distraction surfaced in the form of Jack Marston calling out from another corner of the room a ‘Hello, uncle Dutch!’ before burying his face in his book again, followed by the half-naked emergence of a young man from the bathroom.

“Eagle Flies,” Arthur waved at the man who didn’t seem to take notice and instead proceeded to dry his long wet hair. “Remember, the-”

“Drummer, yes…”

He couldn’t help but flash a grin, seeing the look on Dutch’s face. Like a wolf eyeing a lonesome lamb. The good-looking lad did produce a similar effect in most people, himself included when he’d first met him at the airport. Anyway… Ogling a guest wasn’t exactly polite, so he returned his attention to Dutch, who had now placed the toddler on the floor and was pulling Arthur towards the small balcony with a grip on his forearm. 

“So, what is all this?” Dutch closed the glass door, motioning at the people crowding the small flat on the other side of it. “Why is John’s entire family here? Wasn’t he supposed to come-”

“Alone, yes…” Arthur sighed, leaning against the railing. “That’s what I thought too. Turns out he had a better idea. Or Abigail did most likely.” Catching Dutch’s eyebrow quirk, he clarified: “She’s here too, naturally. Gone sightseeing now with Marston.”

Thank goodness they hadn’t brought Uncle with them. But then the thought of Uncle being in charge of the ranch… He’d face-palm, if he hadn’t done that already a dozen times and more since hearing the news from a grumpy, jetlagged John. 

“They all slept here last night?” 

Arthur looked up from the moving cars down in the street below to Dutch, shrugged a tired shoulder. “Yeah, packed like sardines. Marston and Abi and the girl on the bed, Jack on the couch, Eagle Flies and I on the floor. Lucky I had those sleeping bags from when we went-”

“Well, the boy, Eagle Flies, he is staying at my place.”

“Hah, no.” Before a determinedly frowning Dutch could object, he reasoned: “You wanted Marston, you take Marston.” 

Dutch waited for a moment, still frowning, lit a cigarette. “It’s different now, you can’t tear the man away from his family, Arthur.”

“No, Dutch. You invited John, you take him. I’ll take Eagle Flies.”

“We’ll flip a coin.”

“Fine.” 

Arthur dug out an old coin from the pocket of his jeans. Tails, Dutch would get the drummer, and Arthur if head. The coin rolled and rolled and rolled in the air and… head! Grinning smugly, he slipped the coin into Dutch’s back pocket and gave him a nice pat on the cheek.

“And the rest?”

Almost simultaneously they both concluded: “Hosea.”

Despite his reservations, neither Abigail nor Matthews seemed to mind the arrangement. In fact, from the moment they met, they got along like oil and… vinegar? Only hopefully not temporarily. To be fair, Hosea’s house was the largest, at least had enough number of rooms to accommodate Abi and her kids. Rachel immediately fell in love with the elegant resident Abyssinians, Bessie and Silver Dollar. Jack looked happy too, fascinated as he immediately became by Hosea’s well-stocked library. Matthews put Jack in a good international school, Abi later told Arthur. 

On the flip side, Arthur’s unhostly excitement at having Eagle Flies for a guest came to naught, seeing how the young man was in a committed relationship. How they were going to make it work long-distance, neither Arthur nor the pair had any clue… It could work, Arthur supposed, and they ended up talking about it at length, which in turn led to the happy discovery that they could potentially make good friends. Just as well. 

Having spent the first couple of weeks showing his new friend around the city - they even went on a trip to Hamburg - and with the diminishing novelty of having a guest over, Arthur realised he hadn’t heard from John, or Dutch for that matter, for a while now and decided to go check on them. 

First stop was the club. And the last stop too, since both missing parties happened to be there. In the dungeons. Maybe he should have checked on them sooner… Four rooms were in use at the time, and he had to endure the embarrassment of interrupting some strangers’ fun before knocking on the door of the correct cell. Dutch was in full gear when he half-opened the door; latex gloves and leather harness and all the other items that made his heart skip a beat. Sometimes. From the darkened room Arthur could distinctly hear John’s moans, but before he had a chance to take a peek, Dutch pushed him back and stepped out, closing the door. 

“You want to join?”

“No.” Arthur responded, as usual, eyeing the other carefully, if futilely, to see if he could guess what was going on in the cell exactly. “Is Marston there?”

“Yes.” 

Hmm, that smirk. He wasn’t going to tell him. Probably not even if he asked, but he would anyway.

“So,” Arthur crossed his arms, leaned back against the opposite wall. The corridor was narrow. “What are you guys doing?”

Dutch paused for a moment, unnecessarily probably. No, definitely. 

“Can’t say, I’m afraid. We’re with a client, their privacy must be preserved.” 

John and a client? Hmmm… Abi, maybe?

“Is it Abigail?” He found himself asking, butterflies fluttering in his belly now for some reason, to be replaced by a host of frenzied implings when it occurred to him the client might be male. “Is it a man? Look, Dutch, I’m okay with you and John, but-”

There was a soft knock on the other side of the door. 

“Sorry, my boy, gotta go.”

And just like that the door was shut in his face and he received no more response no matter how many times he pounded on the metal door. Well, only once, he wasn’t that rude. _My boy!?_ But still, the next hour or two he spent bobbing his head crossly to the techno beat for the benefit of poor Karl, who did his best not to let Arthur get too drunk no matter how many times he complained about the watery whiskey he was being served. 

“It’s on the house, Morgan, be grateful,” Karl smiled, poking him in the brow with a kindly finger.  
“He’ll be out soon.” 

Just as Arthur was going to ask a cheeky ‘which _he_ ’, he heard a familiar ‘hey’ in a more-than-usual raspy voice. In an instant he was up on his feet to be confronted by a somewhat red-faced John dressed in his everyday clothes - black jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket - with the addition of a collar and attached to it a leash long enough to almost touch the ground. Never mind that now… He hugged him so tight, he had to struggle himself free like a kitten escaping forced grooming, teeth and claws. 

“Marston, you idiot,” He finally let him go. “I missed you.”

John glared at him and for some reason at Karl too. “You’re drunk.”

“Nah, just tipsy.” 

John shrugged and headed out of VDL, followed by Arthur. They walked in silence for a while, enjoying the cool late-spring night air, distracted now and then by the shivering reflection of street-lamp lights in rain puddles sprawled across the asphalt, until suddenly Marston began talking, almost non-stop, excitedly relating how the session had gone, that it had been his first, but how he enjoyed it, and he seemed to have forgotten all about maintaining the client’s privacy as he went on about what a fascinating lady Charlotte was and how well she responded to Dutch’s training. It was a new life for her, to start over again now that she had lost her husband, but couldn’t bring herself to start a similar relationship with-

“So…” Arthur interrupted before John could spill the poor lady’s entire life to him, and partly not to have to deal with the relief he’d felt at realising the client was a woman. “How is it going with you and Dutch?”

“Fine, I guess.” John eyed him for a moment, then shrugged, the leash swishing from side to side as he walked.

Arthur was very much tempted to grab it. But raised his eyebrows instead and smiled: “You don’t dislike him anymore?”

“No.”

John’s brisk answers were a bit unnerving, especially after the earlier ramble. Knowing Marston, either everything was really fine, or the exact opposite was true and he was not telling him out of pride.

“Have you slept with him?” He hoped the shock of a blunt question would jolt him out of the monosyllabic state, and it seemed to work.

Marston coughed and looked at him with knitted eyebrows through lovely, unruly bangs, then to Arthur’s surprise he suddenly grinned. “Is that what this is all about? Me staying with him? If so, sorry to disappoint, but no.” He seemed to be thinking for a moment. “He’s too shy for my taste…”

“Dutch, shy!? How so?”

“Dunno, like, I could tell he was trying to start something one night, maybe,” John resumed. “But you know me, I don’t respond well to subtle hints and the like. So I got bored and went to bed.”

“Okay…” He could see how that could dampen Dutch’s enthusiasm, for good probably. “What do you two do then? On a daily basis, besides training dominatrixes.”

“Nothing special. The times we happen to be at the flat at the same time, he’s always reading quietly to himself. And I’m either writing songs and stuff or playing games.”

“What games?”

“This cool game, Arena. Borrowed from Micah the other day-”

“Wait a minute!” This was getting more and more strange. “You’re on game-borrowing terms with Micah now?”

“Not really… Might have nicked it off him, not gonna give it back either.” A pinch at the unscarred corner of his mouth, and: “He pisses me off… Nothing I can’t handle though.”

“You’ve met the band then?”

“Yeah. It’s alright, the usual as with every band. That guitarist of his, Cleet, kept saying shit like how I shouldn’t be lead guitar, but I gave him a good beating. And now that Abi is in, we’ve got more say in things. She wouldn’t join at first, what on account of Micah being a creepy asshole to her. But I asked Dutch to convince her and somehow he did.” 

Arthur nodded, deciding to remain quiet while he digested all the information.

“So she plays half the time with us,” John continued. “And half the time she’s playing Jazz with Matthews’s pals.” He raised his head so that their eyes met. “She really likes him, you know, like a father figure. Think it’s good for her, she never had that. And he’s taking care of them just fine. The school Jack goes to now, they said he’s very smart.”

Arthur smiled to see John’s expression lighting up with parental pleasure. “Next you gonna tell me the little one is discovered to be some maths prodigy?”

“Nah, the little one took after her _dada_.”

He pulled John close with an arm wrapped around his waist and kissed him tenderly on the temple to let him know he was no such thing as dumb. An idiot maybe, but a genius all the same. Just as Marston started telling him how he thought he might be attracted to someone he’d met at the club, they arrived at a cinema and the thread of conversation was lost. John wanted to watch _Crow_ , but apparently that film came out in the US in May and not in Europe, so they had to settle for _Robocop III_ , with Arthur falling asleep halfway through, sometime after he’d tied John’s hair in a bun so the locks wouldn’t become even greasier through contact with the popcorn he was munching on, his own hair now draping annoyingly round his neck. 

By the time he was awakened, he’d forgotten about John’s mystery infatuation, and so dropped him off outside Dutch’s place before returning to his own. The identity of the man came to light the next afternoon when an immaculately dressed Escuella came to the art studio Arthur shared with Châtenay to ask the former’s blessing to take John on a date. 

“Sure,” Arthur waved a brush-holding hand. 

“Good. I wouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.” Javier nodded, later motioning with his chin at the painting he was working on, nose wrinkled, from the smell of paint no doubt. “Is that Marston?”

Arthur grinned. “Yup. If your outing goes well and you decide to take him for life, maybe I’d sell it to you.”

“We’ll see, Morgan.”

He didn’t linger long after that, and about half an hour after his unexpected visitor had left Arthur was having a nice time with himself painting and dancing and singing-

“ _Ich bin die große Freiheit! Hmm mmm mm… Also kauf mich, bitte kauf mich!_ ”

-when he caught sight of a boater hat peeking through the left-open door and then the smiling face of another unexpected visitor. 

“Albert!” Arthur stood still in his tracks, cheeks warming up immediately from being caught prancing about and blaring like an ass. “Didn’t know you were in Berlin!”

“Oh, arrived today. It wasn’t planned really. Thought I’d surprise you.” Mason smiled sheepishly, stepping fully inside now. “Is this a bad time? I could come ba-”

Quickly wiping off the brushes on a cloth, Arthur turned off the radio and assured Mason it was an excellent time.

“You want some, uh… tea?” He’d have offered coffee, but he was well aware of Albert’s partiality towards tea.

“I’d lo-”

“Shoot, don’t have any tea, sorry,” Arthur closed the snacks’ cupboard and offered Mason some coffee instead which he accepted graciously. They sat down on a pair of old mismatched armchairs. “So, what are you doing here?”

“There is a photoshoot, at the zoo.”

Arthur nodded and sipped his new cup of coffee, the previous one rendered inedible when by habit he dunked his brush inside it instead of in the water container. 

“Have you been?” Albert asked, pouring loads of brown sugar in his coffee. “To the zoo, I mean?”

“Nope.” Arthur tried not to smile to see the man’s excessive sugar intake. “Don’t fancy zoos. I’ll come with you though if you want me to.” He added the last bit as an afterthought.

Mason shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? Not gonna get eaten by a hippo or something?”

“Arthur, it’s a zoo! It’s safe. Right?”

There was a pause and they both laughed at the uncertainty echoed in Mason’s question. They continued talking, mostly politics, Mandela being the main topic, or catching up, for a while and before he knew it the afternoon was almost over. He got up to light a floor lamp and two when he noticed Mason - cup in hand - was following him. It was sort of cute. He decided to tease him a bit, so turned around suddenly only for them to end up face-to-face and smiled to see Mason’s mild embarrassment. Cute.

“So, what are you working on?” The man asked hurriedly, fidgeting on his feet. 

Arthur showed him the painting: a portrait of a black-haired man in a red t-shirt. 

“Wow, nice… Who is this?” Albert was quick to add: “If I may ask?”

“You may.” Arthur smiled a large square smile, after all this time still pleasantly surprised by the man’s overthetop politeness. “It’s Marston.”

“I see.”

“What, don’t like it?”

“No,” Mason adjusted his specs and leaned closer to have a better look at the brush strokes. “I mean, I do, yes! Just… Didn’t think he was so, how should I say, striking.” When he spied Arthur’s amused expression, he added: “No offence, it’s just-”

“None taken,” Arthur spoke before Mason could torture himself any further. “And yes, he’s a handsome fucker.” Almost regretting his words when he saw the other’s facing falling into a saddish deportment. “He’s visiting now, so I decided to paint him.” And even further… “Not to see me though, he’s here to play at Dutch’s club, and others, with his children and...” Shit.

Albert was now standing by a large window, looking at the colourful sky, smiling a little pensive smile as he asked: “His children are in a band with him?”

It took Arthur a moment to realise he was joking, what with the almost forlorn tone tinting his words. He tried to laugh at the joke, but it came out brief and awkward. 

“Yeah, the two-year old is great at percussion…” 

Neither spoke for a few moments. It was Mason who broke the silence.

“Why the gun?”

“Hmm, it’s an interpretation of a Heine poem.” Arthur responded, picking up a torn out page from on top of a table beside the easel and handing it to Mason, providing him with a casual translation which was of course unnecessary. He always forgot how many languages Mason spoke thanks to his career as a constantly travelling Nat Geo photographer. 

“Are you into poetry?”

“I pretend to be.” Arthur took the paper back, pushed the folded poem into a pocket, scratched his chin. 

“Why this one though? It’s very melancholic. Is this how you feel about him?”

Arthur thought for a moment, sat on the window ledge, staring at Albert’s profile before diverting his gaze to the pink, orange, blue and green clouds racing rapidly along like a horde of coursing stallions on a deep blue meadow.

“Not really,” He spoke at length. “Not anymore, at least. There was a time when I was very frustrated with our relationship. He wanted certain freedoms and I couldn’t deal with it, I reckon. Used to blame myself a lot and him, made me feel pretty rotten and now it’s showing in the painting, what’s left of it all at least. Don’t think I could have painted anything like this at the time when it was happening.” He turned to face Mason again and smiled at the man who was eyeing him attentively - with sympathy, even, if he dared imagine. “It’s different now. Since I moved here my view of these things has changed a lot.” He left out the fact that another relationship had had an impact on this change of attitude. “Still care for him, of course. Don’t think I’ll ever stop caring for him, in fact.”

He watched Albert carefully to see his reaction to the confession, but there was nothing perceptible. Mason could be pretty opaque when he wanted to be. Well, he should probably give him a chance to think things over. This was all new, the first time they’d come close to an intimate conversion, if it could be called one. And though he saw potential for something, Arthur wasn’t sure he even wanted that. He often enjoyed what friendships could offer more than sex and romance, which tended to ruin certain things most times. 

“Back where I come from it’s very different from here,” He went on, getting up to fill his and Mason’s cup with fresh coffee, somewhat feeling uneasy to see him start drinking without pouring a heap of sugar in first. He recovered his seat by the window. “You don’t speak about it there, certainly don’t declare it. I’d been with other people besides John, of course, before I met him. But he’s been my companion all these years, my partner, my comfort. Even if we don’t get along very well half the time, hehe…” The chuckle was a bit coarse, forced. He took a sip of coffee to wash it down. “What I mean to say is, when you form a bond with someone in circumstances such as ours was, it stays with you.” 

Somehow it felt good talking to Albert about his relationship with John, even if he wasn’t sure it was fair to the man; then again, it would be unfair not to tell him. Helped him understand it better himself too. Though at the same time he felt a measure of shame at the irrational emotions he had felt only yesterday when thinking of Marston with another man. Strangely enough, he hadn’t felt the same earlier in the day after Javier’s dramatic declaration. Maybe he only became anxious at the idea of John being hurt by a stranger. He couldn’t think about it anymore at the moment, though, not while anticipating Mason to ask him such questions as why Marston wasn’t enough for him and what Dutch’s role was in all this. He considered asking Mason to talk about his own relationships, but had a feeling the question might come across as intrusive at present.

Arthur soon realised he’d gone back to the easel to clean the equipment, an instinctive excuse for giving Mason some space. He was much relieved when he heard him speak again.

“You like rock?” 

There was even a note of mirth in his voice. 

“I don’t really have a preference,” Arthur smiled. 

“Just that you were really into it,” Mason smiled in return, a bit mischievously even, heart-warming.

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows. “What do you like then?”

“This and that…”

“Tell me, I won’t judge.”

“Ah, well, synth-pop mostly. Petshop Boys, Erasure?”

The last name didn’t ring a bell, and it must have shown in his face.

“You know, _Always, I wanna be with you, and make-believe with you…_ ”

“Ahh, yeah! Think I’ve-”

“ _AND LIVE IN ‘ARMONY, ‘ARMONY! ALWAAAAYS!!!_ ”

Both Albert and Arthur jumped in shock to hear the loud singing followed by the visual presence of one Châtenay.

“ _Bonsoir, mes amis_!” 

A moment later they both had red lipstick kiss marks on their cheeks, with Albert too shy to imitate Arthur in rubbing them off. 

“ _J’adore_ that song!” Châtenay resumed very soon after. “The video especially.” He made a sweeping gesture at the colourful self-designed kimono he was wearing and turned to Mason. “Darling, hold my cock for a moment, if you please.” And handed the baffled man the giant stuffed rooster he’d tucked under an arm, before turning to Arthur and motioning for him to follow him to the middle of the studio, where he squatted, pulled a chalk piece from his sleeve and began drawing the outline of what turned out to be a cat. He then asked Mason to return the bird to him, which he placed in the middle of the drawing. “Voila! My latest work. What do you think?”

“Impressive!” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Baffles me every time how you come up with these things...”

Charles ignored the sarcasm and instead went on and on about his new project to Albert, who kept nodding politely without having a chance to offer his opinion. Eventually Arthur managed to rescue the man by falsely informing Châtenay that they were going out for dinner. He was fun to be around, for sure, but he didn’t want to subject a timid Mason’s sensibility to an extroverted explosion that would leave him shell shocked for a whole month…

Once they were outside the studio, he asked Albert if he really wanted to go out for dinner to a sushi bar he’d discovered recently. It turned out he’d already promised dinner to some fellow photographers and they promised to go out another evening. Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if Mason truly had an engagement or if he was just feeling overwhelmed by their earlier conversation, which he couldn’t blame him for. Well, no use beating himself over it now. He would have to wait and see what would come of it. Knowing Mason, it wouldn’t be difficult maintaining their friendship if nothing else happened. 

Not feeling like going home yet, he decided to pay Dutch a visit. 

To his surprise he wasn’t at the club, and to his annoyance Micah was, making a beeline for him. Fuck. Before he could make his escape, Bell was on him, inviting him to have a drink. Arthur grunted in acceptance, partly since he liked the song being played and partly cause he was a bit curious to hear how he was getting on with John. He didn’t have to wait long.

_**It’s not a second…** _

“You really went and did a number on me finally, huh cowpoke?” 

“Meaning?”

And so the next half-hour was spent listening to Micah rant and rave about the havoc John was wrecking on his band already and somehow blaming it all on Arthur for putting in Dutch’s head that it was such a good plan to have Procyonidae merge with Schlangengift - Micah’s band. That was news to Arthur too, one which he needed to investigate further, so he bid Bell an abrupt farewell and left the club in the direction of the other place he thought he might be able to find the other man at.

Dutch was home. 

Stepping aside to let him in, the first thing he asked Arthur was if he was drunk, which pissed him off somewhat, seeing as people had been asking him that lately only after a couple of drinks. That out of the way, he was about to demand an explanation for what Micah had told him earlier concerning the merging plans when Dutch spoke.

“You look like you’ve come to fight.”

He looked calm. Usually was, in his own territory, in this instance a loft apartment on top of a converted factory with minimalist industrial design, open spaces, glass surround showers, modern furniture. Bauhaus meets Brutalist. Leather, wood, metal, concrete. And the existence of the many large warehouse-style windows meant that the apartment was supplied throughout with charming shades of light at certain times of day and night. Arthur liked it there, found it all oddly relaxing. Maybe because he’d been there many times before. He didn’t have a key though, it was something they had immediately agreed on early on, that they wouldn’t have keys to each other’s houses. 

“No.” He responded, removing his jacket and draping it over the back of a leather sofa. “I came to talk.”

“Well, you look angry.”

“I’m not,” He sighed. Then placed a hand on Dutch’s flat abdomen and robbed it with his palm gently in reassurance. “Had a chat with Bell, always makes me tense.” 

Arthur headed towards the conservatory area he’d created in a corner of the house with the various plants he’d gifted the owner, who was following him, humming lightly, hands in pockets. It was almost an automatic ritual now, though none of the plants had died so far. Still, he wanted to make sure they were alive and well. Once he stopped squatting and turned around, he saw Dutch smiling a knowing, satisfied smile. 

“What’s that smell?” Arthur sniffed the air, eyes immediately widening as did his smile into a grin. “You baking?”

Before Dutch could stop him, he was in the kitchen - well, the kitchen area - peeking into the oven. 

“Cinnamon rolls?”

“Hmm, you love cinnamon, don’t you?” Dutch mused, striding behind him, coming to a stop with his hands still in his pockets. “Should I rub some on my dick for you next time?”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Could try…” He stood up. “So, what is it?”

“Muffins.”

“Okay.” He wasn’t a huge fan of muffins, and neither was Dutch. “Who are they for?”

“John.”

There was a moment of eerie quiet as Arthur tried to figure out why Dutch was baking muffins for Marston while his host checked his watch, checked the oven and moved on to breaking dark chocolate pieces that he tossed into a pan on the hob, feeding a piece or two to Arthur who happily accepted. Dark chocolate, he liked. 

“It’s a reward,” Dutch finally explained, a playful glint in his eyes. “He’s been a good boy, other than that one time he infected my computer with a virus from this game he likes playing. But he took his punishment, with grace, I must say.”

“Oh?” Arthur’s interest was piqued. “What sort of punishment?”

“You heard a tiny bit of it.”

Funny, Marston hadn’t mentioned anything about the session being a punishment… Arthur didn’t know how to feel about that, or this, that is, the very fact that this had happened, or that he was having strange feelings about it, not of the pleasant kind, probably. 

“John didn’t seem to think of it as a punishment.”

“The best ones often don’t.” 

He reached in his pocket to grab the cigarette packet that was missing since he’d quit. Made him even more irritated. “You should have asked me first.” Instead drew out a piece of crumpled paper and tossed it on the kitchen table.

“Why, you own him, Arthur?”

They stared at each other, open challenge igniting the eye contact. 

“Sure.”

“Too bad then, seeing as he is my guest now.” Dutch dipped a fingertip into the wooden spoon oozing with chocolate and had a taste. A brief reflection and he dipped the same finger in again and held it before Arthur. “I invited him, remember?”

Arthur licked it clean. “You have a policy of punishing your guests?”

“If they’re asking for it.”

Arthur grinned. Couldn’t help it, really, and couldn’t stop his hand either from reaching to dip a finger in the delicious liquid and rubbing it on the dark spot on Dutch’s cheek, then leaning forward to lick it clean, which he couldn’t help either. Really.

Before he could repeat the act, the spoon was dropped into the chocolate mix, the hob turned off and his wrist was grabbed, all in the space of a second or two. 

“You’ll burn your muffins, Dutch.” He warned, allowing himself to be spun around with his front pressed to the island counter. 

Dutch ground against him for a few temperature-rising seconds before grunting and letting go, momentarily, then grabbed Arthur by an arm and guided him back to the living room/area and pushed him onto a sofa, where he was handed a couple of books and asked not to cause distractions for the next half an hour.

Arthur wasn’t wicked enough to want to ruin a perfectionist’s carefully-crafted muffins. So he tried to entertain himself by reading a book - and no, not the Professor Müller volumes that had been offered him along with a thick dictionary... Unfortunately the novel he’d chosen was either too boring or too difficult to understand, or maybe he was just tired, and he fell asleep only after a few pages. He first became conscious of a feathery touch among his hair before opening his eyes and spying Dutch sitting next to him. 

“Would you like to stay the night?”

He sat up and blinked a few times. How long had he slept for? The flat was a bit darker now, partly because Dutch had toned down the lights, leaving only a few lamps on here and there, so the long slanting light of the moon pouring in from curtainless windows could be seen at equal intervals, adding long blue-grey shadows to the composition, complementing the soft piano music playing in the background. 

“Sure.”

He robbed his eyes and yawned, and noticed an acute twinge in his stomach at the same time. 

“Do you have something to eat?” He asked, leaning to kiss Dutch on a cheek, inhaling the scent of his cologne delightfully mixed with chocolate. Mmmm... “John back yet?”

“Yes and no.” Dutch stood up. “Come, we’ll make sandwiches.”

Arthur’s mouth already salivated in anticipation, recalling the fantastic rye bread supplied by a bakery nearby. Pepper-coated salami, butter, fresh lettuce and sweet tomatoes, and some walnut and excellent brie on the side. And good beer. What else could one ask for? 

They chatted a bit while eating, Dutch telling him a few more Marston-related anecdotes and Arthur recounting some interesting episodes of time spent with Eagle Flies. 

“John doesn’t bother you with his practising?”

“No, he usually does it when I’m at the club or the stables.” Dutch dipped a piece of bread in olive oil and vinegar. “Offered him to come and see the horses, but he seemed reluctant.”

“You should let him ride your bike, he’d enjoy that.”

“Maybe in the countryside…”

After helping Dutch clean up, Arthur took a shower - god he hated the glass walls - and noticed in the meanwhile that he still had paint all over him, including a big smudge on his chin that no-one had cared to tell him about… When he got out, Dutch was already lying down, on the bed on top of the blankets, reading. He dried himself and joined him, lying naked with arms crossed behind his head. 

Dutch closed his book, turned to face him. “I want to try something.”

He shifted his body sideways. “Listening.” 

“I want to tie you up.”

Arthur huffed and rolled onto his back again. “You know I don’t like that sort of thing...”

“Maybe you will, haven’t even tried.”

“I know I won’t!” He tilted his face towards Dutch, who’d now put the book away and was almost crouched on the bed eyeing him like an excited cat. Big cat. “It’s just…”

“Arthur, you let Châtenay dress you up in drag and take you to all sorts of parties.”

“That was fun!” He protested, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Besides, I could get the clothes and make-up off anytime I wanted to.”

Dutch thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll tie you up loosely, only your arms, so you can get out whenever you want.”

“What’s the point then?”

“The visual effect.”

Arthur gave it a thought. Maybe they could give it a try. At least if he didn’t like it, he’d have a solid argument to prevent any further suggestions. If the bonds were loose enough so he could remove them on his own, without having to use a safeword, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad… 

“Alright, but next time we’ll do something I like.”

Dutch nodded, a bit too quickly. _Hmmm._ However, Arthur didn’t have much time to become too suspicious before his wrists were tied above his head to a loop fixed in the brick wall adjacent to the bed and his eyes covered by a thick strip of fabric. 

He had to admit it was a bit different from what he’d imagined. In his mind, he’d always visualised the experience as a solitary one. Now, with the body of his lover next to him, touching him at various points with fingers, lips, tongue, words - it felt entirely different from what he’d anticipated. He still felt undeniably vulnerable of course, and vexed somehow that he had to trust Dutch to take care of his needs, but it also felt a little good. Only a little, mind. Probably cause it was a new experience, and nothing more. 

_Ah_...

A keen sigh escaped his parted lips when he felt a wet sharpness grazing his left nipple, followed by a gentle tugging on the ring, then an enveloping warmth, and a simultaneous tug on the other ring. _Hmmm…_ And after that the unexpected pattern of every tactile contact flared up in static joy across his taut and sweat-slick skin. Of the kisses on his mouth and throat he realised he wanted more, and even more of the words whispered in varying volumes depending on which surface of his body they were spoken against. 

There was no enhanced sensation per se when his thighs were pushed farther apart, fingernails digging in for purchase, and his cock was unexpectedly engulfed in a warm wet orifice, though it felt damned good, precisely because he couldn’t foresee what was going to happen next. 

Biting the corner of his lips, Arthur bucked his hips, trying to fuck Dutch’s mouth, a whimper leaving him when his length slipped into the tight rippling grip of his throat, not for long though, fuck… 

There was a popping sound when his cock was released, now rock hard and leaking precum copiously onto his own belly, drip, drip… He canted his hips again, blindly looking for the lost sensation, but was greeted only by a low, wicked chuckle coming from yet again an unexpected direction. Too close in fact, to his left, where he abruptly tilted his face as if by doing so he could see the source. No such luck, obviously. He could hear him though, shifting to straddle him, firm thighs planted at the either side of his torso, and soon he was hit by a familiar musky scent and then:

“Kiss it.”

He kissed it.

“Properly.” 

He kissed it properly. Took it in his mouth and somehow in his blindness it felt bigger than he remembered. The metallic ring felt heavier on his tongue, the smaller ones alien in size, texture and taste. If it hadn’t been for the voice, he would have even suspected that there might be a third person involved. Well… He could imagine just that, and did, for a moment, to see how it would feel. Made him harder. A way to regain some measure of control over the scenario. It didn’t last long. He wouldn’t allow it, not with all the things he kept murmuring to him, their obscene savagery in stark contrast to the gentle fingers brushing through his hair, looping round his throat, sliding down to pull on the rings again. _Mmmph…_ No-one else spoke to him like that. No-one else was allowed to. 

In a quick move he turned his face to the right so Dutch’s cock slipped from his mouth, leaving a sticky streak on his jaw in its wake. Arthur licked his lips, breathing softly.

“Fuck me.”

It wasn’t a request. The grip in his hair tightened. 

“I am, Arthur.”

“No, on all fours.” A pause. “Please.”

He’d tear them away, the bonds, in absence of an answer. Couldn’t wait anymore. Wanted it now. Wanted to feel him inside, hard and unmerciful, taking, making a mess of him, making him… Silence hung heavily around them, interrupted by the laden but composed sound of breathing. He’d give him to the count of eight. One... Two... ThreeFourFiveSix-

**_PRRRRRIIIIIING_ **

It took him a moment to recognise his mobile’s ringtone. Immediately Arthur snapped the ropes - tied tighter than he’d expected - and tossed the blindfold aside to leap out of the bed and in the direction of his jacket in whose pocket the clunky device nestled.

“Hello?”

“It’s me, cowpoke. Need to talk to Dutch.”

Yeah it had to be Micah Bell. Who else… He gave the phone to Dutch who snatched it and went away to talk in some other part of the flat, though his loud voice echoed all the way to where Arthur was, lying again on the bed.

“It’s not done, you know,” Dutch was pointing the mobile at him now, talk finished. “Ending a session like that.”

“Session?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. Felt like they were in for a fight. Didn’t feel like it at all. He took a deep breath. “That was my first ever call. What did he want? Why does he even have my number?”

“John gave it to him probably. They were arguing again.” Dutch turned the phone off and put it on the bedside. “I’m some sort of on-call arbitrator now, apparently…”

Arthur motioned for him to lie back down, which he did eventually, after restlessly pacing about a bit. They were both only half-hard now. Perfect. Arthur rolled onto his side.

“That wasn’t so bad.” He pressed his palm on Dutch’s chest, messing up the direction of the dense body hair. 

“Want to continue?”

“Another time,” He bent and kissed him on the mouth, letting their tongue tips play unhurriedly. “I want something else now…”

It wasn’t the first time he’d fucked Dutch. It started a while ago, a night following a ballet performance. Pretty rough the first time, all bites and bruises. And even though he’d been the one topping, it felt as if Dutch had taken charge of all the granite-rigid rage solidified inside him and transformed it into a molten force at once creative and destructive, powerful, for his own pleasure. No, for the both of them. He rocked into him gently now, no words spoken, just holding onto each other. Loved his moans, oh, and the way he squeezed his eyes shut, head tilted back, the dark of his hair contrasting beautifully with the pale shimmer of the pillows. He loved to watch him when he fucked him. Loved to see the strength of him becoming soft and elegantly yielding without entirely disappearing, as if in check. The way his arms wrapped around him, fingers tangled in his hair, precum-soaked piercings rubbing against his belly. And damn he was tight, and hot, and so silky soft inside, so sensitive, wanting. 

Sensing himself getting close, Arthur wrapped his fingers around his lover’s length, caressing lightly enough to tease at first, increasing the pressure when he lost control of his own movements, so they came in as close a succession as possible. He kissed and bit him on the side of his neck throughout the afterrush, and with his last morsel of strength peeled off the condom, tied it and threw it into the bin. 

Some words were exchanged while Dutch smoked a cigar and Arthur took a puff or two, but come morning he couldn’t remember what they were.

In fact, he could only think of one thing when he woke up: the hot heavy weight pressing against his side uncomfortably. Dutch wasn’t a cuddler, who could this be… Reeking of alcohol too, and mumbling incoherently… 

Creaking a sleepy eye half-open, Arthur managed to make out the form of one John Marston, still dressed in his yesterday’s clothes - probably. He’d wedged himself between the two of them, diagonally. 

It was a Herculean labour unclinging John from himself and moving away from the bed. Thankfully no-one woke up in the process and Arthur was able to quickly shower and leave the apartment, casting a final look at the sleeping duo. Hmmm, they should have a threesome sometime...

After a refreshing walk in a park, he decided to breakfast at a recently opened cafe he’d heard many good things about. 

It was actually pretty small. Run by a young woman and her assistant. 

“This coffee is delicious, Ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

It was cute, the way she blushed. He said more good things about the fruit, the granola, the yoghurt, the croissants, the jam and heck even the butter, if only to see her glow and smile some more, revealing a tiny gap between her two front teeth. They ended up talking some more and he invited her to his next exhibition, just then remembering he hadn’t even introduced himself yet. 

“Arthur.” He paid the bill and stood up, stretched a hand towards her.

She took his hand and shook it firmly. “Eliza.”

**Author's Note:**

> Featured songs:
> 
> Vallée de Larmes - Scooter (cover)  
> Kauf Mich - Die Toten Hosen  
> Always - Erasure  
> 7 Seconds - Youssou N’Dour & Neneh Cherry  
> Harmonies poétiques et religieuses - Liszt
> 
> [Heine poem.](https://www.lieder.net/lieder/get_text.html?TextId=7742)


End file.
